Christmas Snow
by SapphirePoet
Summary: "Barbossa is celebrating Christmas in Tortuga; what does he do?" -Really bad prompt from accomplice turned into great Barbossa fandom


It was Christmas Day at Tortuga Port; quite a beautiful sight. Each ebb and flow of the tide bobbed great ships like corks upon the brooding ocean which strained at the ropes that perilously held each sea treasure there. These vessels that had experienced such adventure and such disaster settled for their much deserved rest, knowing that such bliss would not last. Even now, the impatient waters prodded each hull, seeking flaw.

Past the dock, magic was filling the air. Drifting from the heavens, snowflakes gracefully danced out of reach of the hands of young children. Nimbly, they settled in numbers upon the rooftops and the great dirt road that wound around the town only to be kicked up in the prancing of horse-drawn carriages hurrying to join friends and family around a warm hearth. The air carried a bite and none but the youngest and most determined snow lovers endured its nip.

Yet there was one more party braving the chill.

"Snow. There ain't nothing I hate more'n snow!"

"Aye, it's sinister it is. Never know when you'll just disappear in the blizzard… poof!"

The first pirate shivered. He was spooked but would never let Shank know. Glancing nervously back over his shoulder, Gills realized that the ship was no longer in sight; a thick white blanket seemed to be suspended between the crew and their only escape.

_Escape? Why was he….._

"Halt!"

Their formally silent leader spun on his heel to face his gathered crowd. This most noticeable part of their captain was his hat. None were like it. The brim was so long that it should have flopped over into his face, but the crew knew that hat wouldn't have dared. In many of their opinions, fear of the captain is all that allowed his hat to defy such laws as gravity, but he wasn't the only thing hat nor crew feared.

A shrill scream pierced the silent falling of snow. Every man jumped except, of course, the captain. He glanced to the right where a small monkey had climbed up his back onto his shoulder.

"Jack…" the captain stretched out the name fondly yet sinisterly.

Reaching into one of the many pockets sewn into his long overcoat, the captain pulled out a shiny green apple that glistened where snowflakes were falling onto its slick surface. Handing the apple to his monkey, the captain once again looked up at his crew, still standing in rapt attention and silence.

"Well, you shivering piles of ship binge, it is snowing if you haven't noticed so I'd recommend ye find a place to stay for our duration," here the captain smirked, "I'm sure there are aplenty of fine ladies willing to….share."

The crew chuckled, the nervous atmosphere broken, and began to look at the houses lining the street in anticipation.

"Off, you sheep carcasses!"

The pirates were off, running around the port like cockroaches until only one person remained standing in the snow, the brim of his magnificent hat collecting flakes.

After what seemed like an eternity, Barbossa turned his head to glance at Jack.

"Shall we?"

Responding with a chitter, Jack jumped up to perch on the snow weighted brim of the hat. With this gesture apparently perceived to mean yes, Barbossa set out one finely crafted boot deep into the drifting snow and began to walk back to the pier.

Now from here, you would think that the fine Captain Hector Barbossa is walking glumly back to the now deserted Queen Anne's Revenge to spend one frozen lonely Christmas day sitting in the captain's cabin staring across a large wooden table while consuming one of his numerously prepared tart Granny Smith apple meals (as one of the first acts of Hector's becoming undead, he of course deeply studied in the culinary art of apple cooking; green in particular) with a still slightly undead monkey perched on his hat and a heavy heart sinking into his chest, but no.

Barbossa turned left on the final street before the Revenge was even in sight.

Reaching out to the large brass door knocker in the shape of a grinning skull, he prepared to summon the household, but the door swung open, with a slight squeak before the knocker could fall, only to reveal darkness. With a cynical grin on his face as only Barbossa can, he and Jack entered the ominous threshold.

The door squeaked shut as slowly as it had opened and from the light of a single carried candle, an ancient crone's face peered out from the darkness.

"Hector?"

"At your service, Madam Timbre," Barbossa answered with a deep bow.

Rosemond Timbre was one of the fine folks of Tortuga that seldom ventured outside of her grotesque household. No talkative resident (and Tortuga was not known for being a quiet settlement) had seen or mentioned encounter with Madam Timbre in over fifty years which, of course, led to many a number of whispered tales of magik and witchery. If the local pier cat was found dead in the corner of a dark alleyway, Rosemond was to blame. No hurricane brushed the town without curses to her name. No sailor mysteriously vanished (and, in the nature of Tortuga, men found numerous escape routes) without maidens sobbing on bedsides for the Madam to return their lost soul mates instead of acknowledging obvious abandonment.

Her looks, although not often seen, did not help the stories. She had a long thin nose that kinked severely in the middle, leaving her voice nasally and dusty from lack of use. Skin hung in long folds from her jowls and chin while her eyes, beady and sunken, were just deep black pupils with a strong hypnotic quality. Her hair was woven completely into greasy black braids (despite her obvious age, Madam Timbe's hair had not changed from its original pitch black) which was then pulled up into the wadded mess of a bun perched atop her head.

It was lucky that Barbossa had arrived on such a frigid snowy day because, if anyone had ventured onto the streets to witness his entrance to the Madam's house, Tortuga's gossip ring would have found a new victim.

Without a word, the Madam turned sharply around and walked briskly back into the darkness. Barbossa whipped off his monkey-perched hat and gently lowered Jack to the dusty floor and quickly stomped after the elusive Rosemond. With a chitter, the monkey followed his friend leaving a trail of tiny footprints snaking through the dust.

Finding Madam Timbre would have been impossible. Her mansion was a rat's nest of abandoned corridors and empty rooms in which many an incompetent visitor had been lost and forgotten in the maze. Opening just the right door could open a whole closetful of skeletons; secrets and bones. But Captain Hector Barbossa was not just any waylaid soul. With growing excitement and an unfaltering determination, he turned sharply at seemingly random intervals and directions from hallway to room to the occasional dirt tunnel and rocky cave. Beyond normal laws of space and size, Barbossa never hit a single dead end nor backtracked. The whole trek, with hat in hand and Jack running behind him, the captain never faltered, obviously having taken this route innumerable times.

An eternity seemed to have passed; at least to Jack. The undead monkey was panting heavily when Barbossa finally stopped at a closed door. This door seemed no different than any other, except for color. Painted a faded, yet noticeable, green, this was the door that Hector stopped at and sharply knocked four times upon. Without waiting for a reply, he grasped the handle and shoved the door open. At his feet, Jack darted ahead inside without a thought. Barbossa followed the monkey.

The only furnishings in the surprisingly small room was a round table on which a single flickering candle was placed and accompanied by two ancient chairs. In one of these sat Madam Timbre as he had last saw her, but one more had joined the Madam. Perched upon her head was another small capuchin monkey. Any non-monkey companion would never think that this monkey was not the disappeared Jack, but Barbossa knew his friend quite well.

This new monkey had an unusual silver stripe upon its furry little head. Hopping from her head to the table, the monkey shrieked loudly at Barbossa.

"Hector..." Rosemond fondly chided.

The elusive Jack made his appearance by jumping up onto the table right in front of the so called Hector and let out an equally shrill shriek.

Walking up to the second chair with a massive grin, Barbossa sat down in front of the pair of monkeys and placed his hat back upon his head.

"It is nice to see you again, Rosemond."

"Aye. Hector has been waiting."

With this, Hector reached out and grabbed his brother's tail, yanking hard enough to cause a squawk and necessary retaliation. Jack chased Hector until they both leaped off the table and out the green door, leaving their two companions sitting at the round table.

In the faint candlelight, Rosemond Timbre and Hector Barbossa traded tales of monkeys and sea travel, treasure and adventure. Cackles of excitement echoed throughout the house as Jack and Hector chased each other down hallways and through rooms while outside, it snowed.


End file.
